The Moral Pastor... and what does that mean?

I went on vacation last week. It was fantastic and much needed in my life, and made me very happy. I didn't do anything particularly exciting, but there are definitely good stories from the trip...

However, one of things that is sitting with me is a conversation I got into one evening:
What is the moral role of the pastor?

This was not a discussion with someone in the ministry, or someone going into the ministry... just a regular person who attends church on occasion.

I learned a lesson about 5 years ago: Pastor's are people, too. They make mistakes, they live lives, they are not perfect. I *loved* learning this. It was freeing.

But the discussion I had was centered on the idea that the pastor should be an example (which I agree with), but to the point that they aren't people, too. I feel that the idea of the perfect person is one of the things that increases burn out rates in pastors. With such high expectations, how is the pastor supposed to LIVE? Does the pastor pretend to be perfect and not admit flaws in order to be a good example, or is being a good example living with it all and living in true community?

Where is the pastor in the church community? The ideal to live up to, but not to be included? In order to model community, isn't authenticity necessary? Does a moral pastor living authentically in community mean the pastor literally has to have all their crap together before stepping into the pulpit, with no flaws left?

How is that fair?

What do you think? What is the moral role of the pastor and how does that fit into the necessity of a pastor to have a life and be a person that struggles? What is too big for a pastor and what isn't? What is a sin, and what isn't?

For example:
Can a pastor drink? Is that a moral issue? Does it depend on the community?
Smoke? Is it a sin or just not a good idea for a pastor to do that?
Does being a spiritual leader mean they must also be healthy, because that is a good example?
Where does "being a good example" stop?

Goodbyes are never easy...

I've said a lot of goodbyes in my life. I've said a lot of hellos, as well.

But I realized something: Goodbyes never get easier. 

And I don't know why, for me, they seem to be getting harder. You'd think I'd get better at them the more of them I give, but I think I've learned some lessons over the years.

I've learned...
1) some goodbyes are going to be forever.
2) it's not just the big goodbyes that matter.
3) you don't know when it's forever.
4) each person deserves to know what they mean to you.

I've gotten much more emotional over the last four years. And maybe it's because of the goodbyes that I wasn't able to say.

See, last year, as I drove myself up north, back to the town of my birth, I saw the sign that announced I was back in my hometown, and I started to cry. Thinking about it now makes me cry. Part of it is because the last time I had left that town (in 2009) was the last time I had seen my grandmother alive. I was coming back to a town that was forever changed from what I knew. I had never even been able to say goodbye. It hurt to drive in knowing that it would never be the same. Not like that.

I spent the summer hanging out with my family. My aunt and uncle, cousins, second cousins, my sister and her kids, my other sister and her kids, my brother, my dad, my other aunts and uncles... in and out of homes and living the life. I left at the end of the summer broken-hearted that I wouldn't be there for the foreseeable future. Going back this weekend makes me insanely happy.

All these goodbyes in my life have made the hellos so much sweeter; no matter if they are new or old.

Hellos are definitely my favorite, but I will relish every goodbye. Goodbyes mark chapters in our lives, periods of significance. Goodbyes are probably one of the most important things we say, because they let us know our lives are changing and moving. They are the rocks in our rivers, causing rapids that help keep us moving and make it interesting.

Enjoy the rapids.

Stagnant

Let's get real for a minute...

When I first arrived back stateside (almost 13 months ago), I understood exactly why people need furloughs. I was burnt out on certain things and needed to be refreshed. I wanted to hear only English for a while, and I wanted to eat all the food I'd been missing. I wanted a chance to do nothing but rest and catch up.

I knew I was about to enter a time of learning, a new season. My brain would be expanding, and, hopefully, my heart would, too. I was ready to be in this time, and I knew it was a necessary time for me. I knew it was my next step (that didn't make it any easier, but at least I knew it was right). So, I rested, and then I set out on my Divinity School journey.

It has been a great journey. Not always easy, but great, and so worth the time, effort, and money. I have a great community around me. I hope I am an important part of my community. I have a great church community around me that I feel more attached to than ever. I've made amazing new friends, and some of them have become more like family to me than I could have imagined at the beginning of this year.

This summer, as I sit here on my couch (and yes, procrastinating something else I should be doing), I realize that a few hours ago I voiced a concern that I hadn't noticed until that moment:

I feel stagnant. 

I feel like I'm not moving right now. I'm sitting here doing what I'm supposed to do. I am staying busy even though I am not working. There are things in my life that give me great joy. Things I enjoy doing immensely. And yet, I feel like there's supposed to be something more. I feel like my time of resting is over. I'm ready to pour out myself again. I've been fed. I've been taught. I'm ready to be used again. My vessel is overflowing, and I want to do.

Over the last month I have done a lot of things that have made me feel right. Those moments that are work, but are so easy that they can't be otherwise.

So I wonder, what's next? 

Where do I go from this very spot? What is the step forward? What is the right step forward? What am I looking for? Is there somewhere that is looking for what I have to offer? What is it that I have to offer?

I don't have the answers, but this is where I am right now. Feeling like the next step needs to be soon, but not pushing it, either. I don't want to jump too soon at something that isn't right. I don't know that I necessarily want to go back to being a 'boss' or in a supervisory role of some sort, but I think I'm ready to do something meaningful again. Not stuffing envelopes. Not simply answering phones. Something real. The menial things are part of nearly every job, but I don't want my job title to be "pencil sharpener."

I'm ready to travel. And part of it is my literal stagnation. Other than 2 trips up north (one last summer, and one in January), I have not been anywhere since my return. I'm itching to literally move. I need to go somewhere. It does not help that my heart is aching to be overseas again. And that others want me there, as well. I have been still more this year than I have been in years. I think I haven't been in one place for an entire year since the calendar year of 2006. That is a long time ago.

I need to do something. These two things together make me really restless.

It could also be that I've already had nearly two months of summer vacation.

I feel like the seasons are ready to change. It's as if I can feel the humidity in my life waiting for the bottom to drop out and let the flowers grow.

The seeds have rested in the soil. It is time to break through the shell. So where will my flowers be?

The atoms of life

"Somewhere along the way I lost the idea that the big things are grand things. Along the way I learned that little things are often greatest. I am not overwhelmed by the beauty of the falls, but by the specks of water that make them. I am not overwhelmed by humanity but by people. Not by sunlight, but by the light of the spirit. The atoms of life that make us. The acts that create us. The littlest things. Life overwhelming." - Me

I was sitting here today, looking through some pictures from my past endeavors throughout the world, and I was really interested in this one of Niagara Falls from last summer. I was looking at the picture, realizing that it isn't the falls that make me marvel. It is the power of the falls. And what makes the power but each part of the falls. It is the little things that make all the difference. 

It is not the big things in the world that overwhelm us. It is the little ones. The smallest speck of water, many of them coming together, that's what makes the falls. The best parts of my travels have been the little things. Picking up a piece of glacier and licking it, essentially drinking water from thousands of years ago. Sitting in the jungle of NZ, or the mountains of Australia, the penguins of Philip Island, the beaches of southern Asia, or the rocky roads of Europe. These were the little moments. It wasn't things like the Taj Mahal (which is beautiful, don't get me wrong), but it is the smaller things that stick out in my mind. I don't remember the Tower of London the same way I remember the family I stayed with in a small village in southern England. 

The little things. 

The friend who brings smiles to your day. 
The person who laughs at the stupid joke. 
Letting someone with children in front of you in line. 
The blade of grass that is perfectly green. 
The counter melody that allows the melody to sing. 
The ostinato of life that keeps you moving. 

The little marvels. 

The atoms of life. 

Blessed.

Interesting...

I am working on a paper about calling. This is interesting because it is a topic that I actually have four blogs written about but not yet posted. In this realm, I am also working on an exegesis from the book of Jeremiah that has me writing on this same topic (and the summary of that will be shared when it is finished, followed then by the blog series). I hope you each join with me on that journey.

Calling is something that I think is very unique in both our secular and religious lives. It is not something we can prove but it is something we can have affirmed. And I think that is something to consider (note to self: use that distinction in the paper!). No-one can tell us we didn't feel the call, because they can't tell us what we feel. All others can do is pray for guidance for the called as they discern the way.

And then we come to the oft-quoted line: "God does not call the equipped but equips the called." (I should use that in my paper, too.) In the mountain church tradition that I'm writing about, this is believed adamantly. A preacher would be given the ability to interpret the word and would be given the word extemporaneously (aka: not prepared beforehand). If you prepared beforehand, you were cheating, and either weren't called, or didn't have enough faith to trust that God was going to give you the words to speak.

Interesting...

It's interesting that when you feel called to something, people like to point out the difficulties to you as if you don't realize them already. Callings are always meant to be easy. I mean, look at Isaiah (called to fail) and Jeremiah (called to bring the bad news). It's not an easy path. Hopefully, if you've been called to something, you realize that it's not easy, and that it doesn't happen overnight.

Interesting...

It's interesting that calling is a word that isn't just in our religious lives, but is used in our secular lives often as people try to figure out their vocational goals. Often you hear it in the terms, "I'm just meant to do this."

We are so fearfully and wonderfully made that our souls know what we're meant to do. That means pushing through the pain.

Let's talk about pain for a second. I've recently begun working out at a gym. For years, I confess, I've been scared to work out. Not because of how I looked, or what my fitness level was, or even of other people seeing me in the gym. I was scared because years ago, I was a compulsive exerciser (among other things). Whenever I would get on a kick to be healthy, I would scare myself out of doing too much because I didn't want to become that person again. I decided I needed to just get over that and do what's good for me. And of course, I realize that I do, indeed, still have a love of working out. I love feeling my body move in sync, and with a purpose. I love the feeling after I work out. If I didn't have school, work, and homework to keep me otherwise occupied, I could probably be there all day.

But that doesn't mean it's easy. You can ask one of my friends who went with me the other day. When things get tough, I have to sit there and push through it. If the resistance suddenly goes up on the machine I have to say "just keep going," or "you can do this!" I have to remember all the good with it. It is hard. It's meant to be hard. But I love it. I've never (in my entire life) left a work out wishing I hadn't done it. I've don't think I've ever actually gone to the gym with an attitude of not wanting to be doing that (maybe I don't like the environment, but I like the things I'd be doing)... Maybe that's a gift, or maybe it's a curse... but it's not easy.

I'm not going to say everything easy is bad, because it's not. We all have our gifts. Some people learn languages quickly, or can do math in their head like a wizard, or don't need the instructions to put together a bookshelf. Awesome. But not everything is easy. And I can almost guarantee that if you've been called to something long term, like, for life, then it's not going to be easy.

But we should remember that the best stories don't happen on the flatland with no obstacles, but come from the ups and downs and arounds of life.

Interesting...

An extraordinary normal day...

There are some days that are just extremely busy from a time and task point of view. Today was one of those days in my life. It was entirely too long and filled with just too many things and people. It was so full, that this evening, even though I'm exhausted, I need some time to wind down from it all.

There are a lot of ideas and things roaming in my head from a lot of different conversations I had today, and each one of them was amazing. For the first time in a while I felt like I was in my place, in a place, and with a place. I was wanted and needed, desired and required, leading and following, sitting and doing. It was a balance, but mostly it was *me*. It was me at a point that I haven't been at in a while. It was me in a way that knew what I was doing. It was me in a place that wasn't lost.

I was back on the map.

I *am* back on the map.

I've been off of it for a while. Re-establishing old relationship, building new ones, scaffolding stories and experiences, meshing old and new. Today, it all seemed to fit. Everything I was, everywhere I've been, and everything I've become all took time to *be* today.

I can't get into specifics, and I don't even know if the specifics would make sense out of my head, but I'll just say that it felt good. It was like, for some reason, today was the day I was going to live into where I'm supposed to be going; as if today was a culminating day.

When in actuality, it was just a normal, super-busy day. In reality, there was no time to do anything except the tasks. Maybe take a breath here and there, but only maybe.

Perhaps I thrive on the minimal-oxygen-available type of existence, but I think it's more that I thrive on these relational, meaningful conversations and mutual respect. Today I felt like a person who had a place. And that's a hard thing to find when you are a lowly graduate student. Today I felt like I truly was authentically me.

And it felt good.

Time flies...

No, seriously. Time FLIES. I was semi-joking with people at the beginning of the school year when they were telling me, "As soon as you know it, the three years will have gone by." This process feels really long in the midst of it. It feels like assignment after assignment, and paper after paper (I'll have you know I've printed over 500 sheets of paper since I started school at the end of August).

But really, I'm sitting here about 5.5 weeks from the end of the semester (classes, at least), and 6.5 weeks from being completely done with the first year, the first THIRD of my graduate education, and I'm thinking, "Well, where did that year go?"

I really don't know where it went, but I've had an awfully good time during it. I've spent time with old friends, made new friends, explored new things, learned a new language (and loving it), been busy out of my mind at moments, and pulled ONE all-nighter. I am not going to do that again. I'm really against them, and I always have been (after high school, that is). But really. I just can't do those anymore. My body does not take to missing sleep very well.

But really. I think back to all the work I've done this year, all the papers I've written and pages I've read. The ink I've gone through, and the hours of studying. Time and seasons marching on while I force information into my brain. Information that is going in easier than music history ever did. I don't know what the difference is between now and undergrad, but I'm really learning things much better than I did. A sign maybe?

Life is ever interesting, and it's ever-moving. Time stands still for no man. And here I sit, wasting some more of it.

I have no idea where the last year has gone, but it will be awesome in 2 years when I'm thinking "It's almost time to graduate!!!"

Until then, I'm going to enjoy the ride on the wings of the clock.

Peace.